


A Prayer

by exmachinarium



Category: Narziß und Goldmund | Narcissus and Goldmund - Hermann Hesse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Goldmund finally puts his tools aside, it's already far too dark to be working on the finer details of his sculpture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [errantknightess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantknightess/gifts).



> Prompted on tumblr by errantknightess.

When Goldmund finally puts his tools aside, it's already far too dark to be working on the finer details of his sculpture - even though something at the back of his mind whispers that, yes, he would be able to carve these subtle curves and ornaments even with his eyes gouged out. For his apostle needs neither sunlight nor warmth, possessing an inner glow of his own (and it isn't at all strange for Goldmund to refer to the sculpture as 'he'; there is life inside, Goldmund can feel it humming beneath his fingers as he brushes the remnants of wood from the finished indentations, palpable and comforting). 

As he gazes into his apostle's, no, Narcissus' face, something in Goldmund's heart stirs in a feeling, a memory, which is as sweet as it is sad. His mind and heart are suddenly flooded by the never-quite-forgotten images of their lives together in the monastery; of the times when, about to set off on an errand, Goldmund did his best to seek out his friend and wish him a good day, just in case they won't see each other outside the hours of prayer and meditation. Of Narcissus' serene smile as he brushed the sea of glistening golden coils from Goldmund's forehead to bestow there a gentle kiss of benediction, along with murmured words of a silent prayer, his voice ringing with love for God and his friend alike. 

Goldmund gets so lost in the cocoon of that which no longer is, that when he finally opens his eyes, the workshop seems a spider web weaved of chill and darkness, threatening to close around him and the unfinished figure. The sculptor shivers and looks up at his work, anchors his troubled mind. Still aware of the quivering darkness at the edges of his vision, Goldmund raises fingers to his own lips (chapped and bitten, and all too familiar with the taste of a lover to compare with Narcissus' soft, thin curve), then presses them gently to the sculpture's forehead, whispering in a tone of reverence.

"May God bless your mind and senses; may His glory shine through your deeds and His wisdom guide your hand and your tongue; may He be your path in the hour of waking and your harbour in the hour of rest. And as night falls, may He be the light in your darkness."

(And you in mine.)


End file.
